Fate Deals a Losing Hand
by halfasblind
Summary: OTH/SPN. He'd wanted to see her once more, tell her goodbye. He wouldn't see her ever again, not where he was going. DP LP


Spoilers: One Tree Hill, "Four Years, Six Months, Two Days"; Supernatural, "No Rest for the Wicked"

Summary: He'd wanted to see her once more, tell her goodbye. He wouldn't see her ever again, not where he was going.

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and Supernatural belong to Mark Schwahn and Eric Kripke, respectively as well as The CW and a whole bunch of other persons that are not me. Don't sue.

—

"How long's he been here?" Peyton demanded, shooting the bartender a disgruntled look as she started toward her ex-boyfriend lying facedown on the bar, wearing a peanut basket on his head, reeking of tequila.

"A while," he replied, moving away, giving her no further explanation.

As if she needed this right now. Tonight, of all nights. Sighing, she nudged him softly, removing the basket from his head—it made him look absolutely ridiculous. But also adorable. Frowning, she banished that thought the second that it entered her head. She was a married woman and he was a part of her past. Or so she had thought.

"Go. Away," came his muffled voice, with no hint of a slur.

"I'll knock your ass off this stool if I have to. Don't tempt me," she warned him, yanking at the arm of his leather jacket.

He lifted his head, piercing her with his hazel eyes; she let go. She hated seeing the pain there, the betrayal. "Why the hell are you here, Peyton?"

"That was my line," she said, tamping down the urge to slap him. He was here, in Tree Hill, on the night of her wedding—that wasn't a coincidence. She was supposed to be home in bed with her husband, not here, rescuing him from a drunken stupor. If he was, in fact, drunk. From her vantage point the didn't look drunk at all. A blast from the past, yes. Drunk, no.

Dean could hear the anger in her voice, tell by the curling of her fingers into a fist, that she wanted to smack him. He wanted her to, he needed some sense smacked him into it and Sam just hadn't done the job. He'd been miserable since she'd walked out on him even though he'd pushed her away, made her regret ever taking a chance on him.

He'd been in a downward spiral ever since his dad's death and Peyton nor Sam could do anything for him. They had tried, until Peyton couldn't take him anymore and left to return home to Tree Hill, to Lucas. "I guess congratulations are in order." He scowled at her as he struggled to his feet. Then, his eyes traveled past her face, landing on her attire, and his brows knitted. "You're wearing your fucking wedding dress."

He'd been there, knew it was absolutely ludicrous for him to go, but he went anyway. He stood at the back of the church in the shadows, watching as she pledged her heart, her life to another man—a better man. One who would live a lot longer than him. Would give her stability, keep her safe, give her children. It was a bitter pill, but his life was what it was and he'd always known that Peyton wasn't cut out for his life. She had loved him, he'd no doubt about that, but she wanted more than he was capable of giving her and that had been their downfall. That and so much more.

"Lucas dropped me off," Peyton said simply, a little smile curving her lips as she spoke of her husband. She'd told him of Dean's drunkenness and he'd been the one to encourage her to come to TRIC. He hadn't acted jealous or insisted on accompanying her to lay a macho claim to her. No, Lucas trusted her and knew that she loved him, despite that a part of her would always belong to Dean Winchester.

Lucas had been the one to encourage her to pursue a relationship with Dean in the first place. She'd met him while she was interning in Los Angeles. He'd told her, "Take a chance. See where it leads. That way you won't regret it." She hadn't regretted it, either. Sure every now and again she regretted not sticking it out when the going got tough, but then she thought of Lucas and how happy he made her. How the decision to get involved with Dean ultimately led her back to him. No, she couldn't regret that. She just wasn't made for the life Dean and Sam lead, a life that would undoubtedly lead to their deaths, sooner or later—and she just didn't want to be around when that day came; she wouldn't be able to bear the agony.

Dean scoffed, "How nice of him." He walked away from her, debating on just waltzing out the door, not looking back. But no. He'd wanted to see her once more, tell her goodbye. He wouldn't see her ever again, not where he was going. Stumbling upon her wedding to Lucas had just been an added—unfortunate—bonus.

He'd left Sam in Nebraska after another failed attempt to break the deal had left him with more optimism than he should have had. He'd torn off down the highway, and before he'd known it, he was headed for North Carolina. Arriving in Tree Hill, he headed straight for Peyton's old house, finding that a new family had moved in. He'd then moved to the café (which was now a clothing store) finally settling on TRIC. He'd sat at the bar, ordered a beer and sat there listening to the idle chatter around him, his attention catching when someone mentioned Peyton's name.

He'd eavesdropped on the conversation, learning that she was to be married that night. Something inside his heart shattered. He knew she'd move on eventually, but he hadn't expected so soon. It seemed like only last week she'd left him, he didn't like to think that it had been almost two years.

He'd gone to three churches before he'd found the right one. He'd snuck in a side entrance, staying to the back, watching as she moved down the aisle towards her husband-to-be, Lucas Scott, who he'd despised during their entire three year relationship. After the "I do's" had been exchanged he'd come back to TRIC and proceeded to get drunk. He hadn't expected the bartender to call Peyton and rat him out. Of course, he had been loud and obnoxious, droning on and on about the one that got away or some such nonsense.

She was happy, he suddenly realized. She was a little put off with him, of course, but despite the frown on her face, he could tell that she was happy—it was in her eyes. He'd always told her that he could tell everything she was feeling just by looking into her eyes. Now, he wished that wasn't so. He averted his quickly, not wanting to see the love shining there for another man.

"I wanted to see you again," he told her, hating the needy sound of his voice. His hand shook with the urge to touch her, caress her cheek, hold her hand. The desire to kiss her was overwhelming—he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, hoping that would help curb the impulse. "I thought…," he trailed off, scratching the back of his head. "Well, anyway. Doesn't matter what I thought."

She smiled weakly, saying, "You could've called. We could've had coffee."

"You wouldn't have wanted that, we both know it." She had left him, sneaking away while he'd been on a hunt. Honestly though, he really thought that she'd be back. She had loved him, after all—you don't abandon someone you love. What a fool he had been. Then again, he'd never called, never tried to reach out to her, beg her to come back to him. He'd fucked up and he'd lost her.

"I'm sorry, Dean. For everything."

He stared at her for a moment, contemplating what he wanted to say. He could lie to her, but he didn't want her last memories of him to be falsities. So, he told her the truth. "We knew from the beginning that we weren't going to be forever." When she started to object, he held up a hand, demanding that she let him finish. "We loved each other, neither of us can deny that. But we weren't what each other needed—at least I wasn't what _you _needed." He took a deep breath, then finished, "I'm glad that you're happy, Peyton. Knowing that I can leave here without a look back. I know you're where you're supposed to be."

When Peyton said nothing, Dean began making his way towards the door. Then music began playing and she said behind him, "Well, the least you could do is dance with me on my wedding night."

Turning around he regarded her with a curious look, but took her outstretched hand and allowed her to lead him onto the dance floor. He pulled her into his arms, her head falling onto his chest, her arms circling his waist. It reminded him of holding her at night, embracing her after returning home from a hunt, relieved to be alive. Suddenly, he wondered if he was in Hell right now. Because this—holding her, smelling her, surely felt like it.

"I won't see you again after tonight, will I?"

"No."

She sighed deeply, and he knew she wanted to probe further; she didn't and for that he was grateful. He didn't want to tell her about Sam's death, the deal, and the past year they had spent trying to get out of it. He wanted to leave her with thinking he was simply cursed, a broken soul—he refused to taint her view of him any further.

As the song ended, they stopped swaying, stepping apart. Holding her hands in his, Dean said, "Congratulations, Peyton. You and Lucas are going to be happy together, I know it."

A tear rolled down her cheek. "Thank you, Dean."

Hands sliding upwards to cup her arms, Dean gently pulled her to him, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. The kiss lingered longer for longer than it should have, but he wanted a lasting one to take with him to Hell, something precious, something sacred, something no demon could take away. Finally, he managed to get out, "Goodbye, Peyton." With one final longing look, he circled around her, and walked out of her life.

Two weeks later, unbeknownst to Peyton, he was burning in hell.


End file.
